
BHIL - O 
ANOE 



rum:3 

AND 




I 
P R 

462S 

D3P4 




DELEINE 
ERCHERE3 



By 
WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND 



•1 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. Copyi-ight No. 



Shelf ..01.3 F<J- 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



O ma ole canoe, wat s matter wit' you, an' 
w'y was you be so slow ? " 




Phil-o-rum's 
Canoe 

and 

Madeleine 
Vercheres 

Two Poems by 

William 

Henry 

Drummond 



Author of " The 
Habitant," etc. 



Illustrated by 
Frederick 
Simpson 
Coburii 



* 






G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
NEW YORK AND LONDON 

XLbc 1knicftcrboc?ier press 

1898 



^^ 



ii)i):i'/ 



Copyright, 1898 

BY 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London 

K^i'DCOPiESfSECEIVtD. 




Ube Tknickerbocher press, "Rcw ll?orft 



ATM- - 5" <^l% 



PHIL-0-RUM'S CANOE. 



*' /^\ MA ole canoe, wat 's matter wit' you, 

V^ an' w'y was you be so slow ? 
Don't f^ work hard enough on de paddle, an' 

still you don't seem to go — 
No win' at all on de fronte side, an' current 

she don't be strong, 
Den w'y are you lak' lazy feller, too sleepy for 

move along ? 

** I 'member de tam, w'en you jomp de sam' 

as deer wit' de wolf behin'. 
An' brochet on de top de water, you scare 

heem mos' off hees min' : 
But fish don't care for you now at all, only jus' 

mebbe wink de eye. 
For he know it 's easy git out de way, w'en 

you was a-passin' by " 

I *m spikin' dis way, jus' de oder day, w'en I 'm 

out wit* de ole canoe 
Crossin' de point w'ere I see, las* fall, wan very 

beeg caribou, 



2 Phil-o-rum's Canoe 

Wen somebody say, " Phil-o-rum, mon vieux, 
wat 's matter wit' you youse'f ? " 

An' who do you s'pose was talkin' ? W'y de 
poor ole canoe shese'f. 

O yass, I 'm scare w'en I 'm sittin' dere, an' 

she 's callin' ma nam' dat way. 
" Phil-o-rum Juneau, w'y you spik so moche, 

you 're off on de head to-day: 
Can't be you forget, ole feller, you an' me 

we're not too young, 
An' if I 'm lookin' so ole lak' you, I t'ink I 

will close ma tongue. 

** You should feel ashame, for you 're alway 

blame, w'en it is n't ma fault at all. 
For I 'm tryin' to do bes' I can for you on 

summer-tam, spring, an' fall. 
How offen you drown on de reever, if I 'm 

not lookin' out for you 
W'en you 're takin' too moche on de w'isky, 

some night comin' down de Soo. 

'• De firse tam we go on de Wessoneau, no 

feller can beat us den 
For you 're purty strong man wit' de paddle, 

but dat 's long ago, ma frien', 



Phil-o-rum's Canoe 3 

An' win' she can blow off de mountain, an* 

tonder an' rain may come, 
But camp see us bote on de evening — you 

know dat was true, Phil-o-rum. 



An' who 's your horse, too, but your ole 

canoe, an' w'en you feel cole an' wet. 
Who was your house w'en I 'm upside down, 

an' onder de roof you get. 
Wit' rain ronnin' down ma back, Bapteme ! till 

I 'm gettin' de rheumateez. 
An' I never say not'ing at all moi-meme, but 

let you do jus' you please ? 

'* You t'ink it was right, kip me out all night 

on reever side down below. 
An' even * bon soir ' you was never say, but 

off on de camp you go, 
Lefifin' your poor ole canoe behin', lyin' dere 

on de groun', 
Watchin' de moon on de water, an' de bat 

flyin' all aroun' ? 

*' Oh, dat 's lonesome t'ing hear de grey owl 

sing up on de beeg pine tree ! 
An' many long night she kip me awake till sun 

on de Eas' I see, 



4 Phil-o-rum's Canoe 

An' den you come down on de morning for 

start on some more voyage, 
An' only t'ing decen* you do all day, is carry 

me on portage. 

" Dat 's way, Phil-o-rum, rheumateez she 

come, wit' pain ronnin' troo' ma side. 
Wan leetle hole here, 'noder beeg wan dere, 

dat not'ing can never hide, 
Don't do any good feex me up agen, no matter 

how moche you try, 
For w'en we come ole an' our work she 's 

done, bote man an' canoe mus' die." 

Wall, she talk dat way mebbe mos' de day till 

we 're passin' some beaver dam, 
An' wan de young beaver, he 's mak' hees tail 

come down on de water Flam ! 
I never see de canoe so scare, she jomp nearly 

two, t'ree feet, 
I t'ink she was goin' for ronne away, an' she 

shut up de mout' toute suite. 

It mak' me feel queer, de strange t'ing I hear, 
an' I 'm glad she don't spik no more, 

But soon as we fin' ourse'f arrive over dere on 
de 'noder shore 



" De mos* worse current 's de las' wan too, de 
current of Dead Riviere." 



Phil-o-rum's Canoe 5 

I tak' dat canoe lak' de lady, an' carry her off 

wit' me, 
For I 'm sorry de way I 'm treat her, an' she 

know more dan me, sapree! 

Yass, dat 's smart canoe, an' I know it 's true, 

w'at she 's spikin' wit' me dat day, 
I 'm not de young feller I use to be, w'en work 

she was only play, 
An' I know I was comin' closer on place w'ere 

I mus' tak' care, 
W'ere de mos' worse current *s de las' wan too, 

de current of Dead Riviere. 



You can only steer, an' if rock be near, wit* 

wave dashin' all aroun'. 
Better mak' leetle prayer, for on Dead Riviere, 

some very smart man get drown ; 
But if you be locky an' watch youse'f, mebbe 

reever won't seem so wide, 
An* firse t'ing you know you '11 ronne ashore, 

safe on de 'noder side. 



MADELEINE VERCHERES. 

I'VE told you many a tale, my child, of the 
old heroic days, 
Of Indian wars and massacre, of villages ablaze 
With savage torch, from Ville Marie to the 

Mission of Trois Rivieres; 
But never have I told you yet of Madeleine 
Vercheres. 

Summer had come with its blossoms, and gaily 
the robin sang, 

And deep in the forest arches, the axe of the 
woodman rang; 

Again in the waving meadows, the sun-browned 
farmers met 

And out on the green St. Lawrence, the fisher- 
man spread his net. 



And so through the pleasant season, till the 

days of October came 
When children wrought with their parents, and 

even the old and lame 



*' Like timers they watch their prey. 



Madeleine Vercheres 7 

With tottering frames and footsteps, their 

feeble labors lent 
At the gathering of the harvest le bon Dieu 

himself had sent. 



For news there was none of battle, from the 

forts on the Richelieu 
To the gates of the ancient city, where the flag 

of King Louis flew; 
All peaceful the skies hung over the seigneurie 

of Vercheres, 
Like the calm that so often cometh ere the 

hurricane rends the air. 



And never a thought of danger had the Sei- 
gneur, sailing away 

To join the soldiers of Carignan, where down 
at Quebec they lay. 

But smiled on his little daughter, the maiden 
Madeleine, 

And a necklet of jewels promised her, when 
home he should come again. 



And ever the days passed swiftly, and careless 

the workmen grew, 
For the months they seemed a hundred since 

the last war-bugle blew. 



8 Madeleine Vercheres 

Ah, little they dreamt on their pillows the 

farmers of Vercheres, 
That the wolves of the southern forest had 

scented the harvest fair. 



Like ravens they quickly gather, like tigers 

they watch their prey. 
Poor people ! with hearts so happy, they sang 

as they toiled away ! 
Till the murderous eyeballs glistened, and the 

tomahawk leaped out 
And the banks of the green St. Lawrence 

echoed the savage shout. 



" O mother of Christ, have pity! " shrieked the 

women in despair; 
** This is no time for praying," cried the young 

Madeleine Vercheres ; 
" Aux armes! aux armes! les Iroquois! quick 

to your arms and guns, 
Fight for your God and country, and the lives 

of the innocent ones." 



And she sped like a deer of the mountain, when 

beagles press close behind, 
And the feet that would follow after must be 

swift as the prairie wind. 



Madeleine Vercheres 9 

Alas ! for the men and women and little ones 

that day, 
For the road it was long and weary, and the 

fort it was far away. 

But the fawn had outstripped the hunters, and 
the palisades drew near, 

And soon from the inner gateway the war- 
bugle rang out clear, 

Gallant and clear it sounded, with never a note 
of despair — 

'T was a soldier of France's challenge, from 
the young Madeleine Vercheres! 



*' And this is my little garrison, my brothers 

Louis and Paul ? 
With soldiers two, and a cripple ? may the 

Virgin pray for us all ! 
But we 've powder and guns in plenty, and 

we '11 fight to the latest breath, 
And if need be, for God and country, die a 

brave soldier's death. 

" Load all the carabines quickly, and when- 
ever you sight the foe 

Fire from the upper turret and loopholes down 
below, 



lo Madeleine Vercheres 

Keep up the fire, brave soldiers, though the 

fight may be fierce and long, 
And they 41 think our little garrison is more 

than a hundred strong." 

So spake the maiden Madeleine, and she roused 

the Norman blood 
That seemed for a moment sleeping, and sent 

it like a flood 
Through every heart around her, and they 

fought the red Iroquois 
As fought in the old-time battles the soldiers 

of Carignan. 



And they say the black clouds gathered, and a 
tempest swept the sky. 

And the roar of the thunder mingled with the 
forest tiger's cry. 

But still the garrison fought on, while the light- 
ning's jagged spear 

Tore a hole in the night's dark curtain, and 
showed them a foeman near. 



And the sun rose up in the morning, and the 

color of blood was he, 
Gazing down from the heavens on the little 

company 



Saluted the brave young captain. 



Madeleine Vercheres 1 1 

** Behold, my friends," cried the maiden, 

't is a warning lest we forget, 
Though the night saw us do our duty, our 
work is not finished yet." 

And six days followed each other, and feeble 

her limbs became 
Yet the maid never sought her pillow, and the 

flash of the carabine's flame 
Illumined the powder-smoked faces, aye, even 

when hope seemed gone. 
And she only smiled on her comrades, and told 

them to fight, fight on. 

And she blew a blast on the bugle, and lo! 
from the forest black. 

Merrily, merrily ringing, an answer came peal- 
ing back. 

Oh, pleasant and sweet it sounded, borne on 
the morning air. 

For it heralded fifty soldiers, with gallant De 
la Monniere. 



And when he beheld the maiden, the soldier of 

Carignan, 
And looked on the little garrison that fought 

the red Iroquois 



12 Madeleine Vercheres 

And held their own in the battle, for six long 
weary days, 

He stood for a moment speechless, and mar- 
velled at woman's ways. 

Then he beckoned the men behind him, and 

steadily they advance 
And with carabines uplifted the veterans of 

France 
Saluted the brave young Captain so timidly 

standing there, 
And they fired a volley in honor of Madeleine 

Vercheres. 

And this, my dear, is the story of the maiden 

Madeleine. 
God grant that we in Canada may never see 

again 
Such cruel wars and massacre, in waking or in 

dream, 
As our fathers and mothers saw, my child, in 

the days of the old regime! 



z' 



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